Heading for a fall
by NivalVixen2
Summary: COMPLETE! An old threat is heading towards Beacon Hills, and as the only three survivors of the pack, Stiles, Lydia, and Derek will do whatever it takes to keep each other safe. [SERIES: Falling off the edge #1]
1. Stiles

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 **Author's note:** The picture that inspired this chapter is linked in my profile.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Stiles doesn't really know when it started (okay, it was probably sometime after the incident with the troll under the bridge; don't ask), but he's found that his trusty baseball bat isn't enough anymore. (Yes, he know's it's technically Melissa McCall's bat, but he had to replace hers after it broke on the back of Aiden and Ethan's Terrible Transformation's giant head, so it's kind of half his too!) Anyway, the wooden ones weren't doing much, the metal ones were far too conducive to electricity which he found out the very hard fucking way after Kira almost electrocuted him one day. So, Stiles went and made his own. The first four attempts ... well, let's just say they _weren't good_. Attempts five to twelve were somewhat better, but there was a whole solid month where Liam refused to go near Stiles, no matter if he had a bat in his hand or not. Now, after quite a few years, and attempt thirty-three and a half (there was a thing with fairies shrinking attempt number thirty-two), Stiles has _finally_ perfected his weapons.

He's stuck with baseball bats because he likes the swing, the feel of the bat in his hand; they're wooden because that that way he can choose the wood they're crafted from (he usually keeps the rowan one wrapped up in a loose linen so it won't aggravate the pack quite so much); the nails are pure iron (it helps against fae folk; there's no fucking way he's letting himself get kidnapped by the fairy queen again - she's insane and has tried to kill/kidnap him with her fairies at least three times since he was last rescued by his pack); and he adds his own grip to the handle, and a symbol on the bat so he can immediately see at a glance which bat is which. Admittedly, it's harder to tell when they're covered in goop and monster blood, but Stiles is still pretty proud of them, and he actually sets time aside after any monster defeating to clean them properly.

He does have a set of metal bats for anything that's thick skinned and likely to break his wooden bats, but they're all in the back of his Jeep, rolling around and clunking hard whenever he turns a corner too sharp. The noise is kind of nice, really, and keeps him grounded in what he does and why. The _why_ has changed quite dramatically over the years, just like Stiles himself has. The only human member of a pack, and now, only one of three left.

Peter's attack had come by surprise - while the older werewolf still hadn't been trusted, none of them had known or even suspected the lengths he would go to in order to become an Alpha again. They _should_ have known though; _Stiles should have known_ \- he'd killed his own niece, after all - there was no way Peter would have thought twice about using his own daughter to kill their pack. Lydia survived because she was immune; Derek survived because he was already bleeding out and left for dead; Stiles still doesn't know why he survived.

He hears the unmistakable sound of high heels against wooden floors, but barely turns his attention away from the map on the wall, even when Lydia strides in, papers tucked under her arms.

"Stiles, we've got reports of an Alpha in Colorado," Lydia informs him. "If it's the same Alpha that was reported in South Dakota last week, that means he's definitely moving south."

Stiles pins a red pin to Colorado, both of them silent as he continues the red string from South Dakota and ties it around the new pin gently. It's been leading from Ontario for the last few months, and it's clear that this Alpha - whether or not it's Peter - is definitely heading towards California.

"So, this is it, then. Peter's finally coming back," Stiles murmurs, and he grabs one of his baseball bats off the wall, using it as an impromptu walking cane so he can walk properly.

He might have been left alive, but it certainly wasn't without his own fair share of scars, and Stiles had been told by doctors that he'd never be able to walk straight again. He didn't care about that - all he cared about was his friends, his family, and he refused to let what was left of _his pack_ be slaughtered by Peter yet again.

"Time to wake Derek up," Stiles calls over his shoulder, and Lydia nods as she sets down the papers on the work table and follows him to their room.

Derek tended to sleep during the day now and run at night, and there was once a time when Stiles might have joked about vampires, but he hasn't felt like joking for some time now. Derek's spent so much time tracking Peter, going to other packs throughout the US for information, begging and pleading for them to be their eyes, to report anything about a wild and misshapen Alpha; it had been hard, especially with their own problems still to deal with in Beacon Hills itself - the fae folk weren't the worst that the Nemeton could produce, it seemed - but still, wolf packs remembered Talia, remembered the Hales, and they all acquiesced to Derek's request eventually.

The reports had been slow at first, and surprisingly, it had been Deucalion who had sent the first report in about the Alpha. None of them really trusted Deucalion much, not even Derek, despite his initial encouragement of Scott's decision to let him go all of those years ago, and they treated the information sceptically. Then another report came in from a pack that had nothing to do with the former Demon Wolf, and Stiles was able to access police reports of similar sightings between the two states, so they believed what Deucalion had said, however reluctantly that belief was. The map went up that weekend, and Lydia and Derek both helped Stiles put it up so he could pin and string as much as he wanted to.

It was harder than ever for them to trust anyone outside of their pack; it was difficult for the three pack members to even trust the Sheriff at times. After everything that had happened to them, what they'd been through, they needed to be trusted just as implicitly as they reciprocated that trust, and after the year of Stiles lying to his father, it was clear that the Sheriff still didn't quite trust everything Stiles said unless Lydia or Derek backed it up. The trust issue definitely wasn't as big as it once had been, both Stiles and his father still working back towards the mutual trust they'd once had, but it was still present. (Speaking of trust, they don't even mention Chris Argent's name unless it's absolutely necessary, and even then it's usually related in a way to Allison instead. What he had done while with the Calaveras was unforgivable, even though Chris had said it was to protect Beacon Hills, a façade needed in order to continue receiving information from other hunters.)

Knowing that Derek likes to be woken up rather than surprised - they all do, now - Stiles doesn't bother to quiet his footsteps and the heavy fall of his baseball bat on the wooden floors. (Lydia made them redecorate after they'd come back, stating that the concrete was destroying her heels, but they both knew it was to stamp down on the memories, the blood, the death, and if wooden floors would do that for her, then that's what they would do. Derek had spent a whole weekend boarding the loft's floor from the front door to their bedroom, and Stiles liked to think that it helped all of them.)

By the time he and Lydia both male it to the bedroom, Derek's completely awake and waiting for them in the bed. The room is dark so Derek can sleep easier, and the light spilling out of the hallway is like a beacon directly towards their bed and lover's body. It's a king-sized bed, big enough to fit the three of them sprawled, but they can't sleep like that, not anymore. There's too much space when they _need_ contact, to know they're still alive, their memories and nightmares haunting them if they're not wrapped tightly around each other. It had taken some getting used to, limbs and legs uncoordinated in the beginning, until Lydia had huffed in annoyance and told both men where to lie and position themselves so that she would be comfortable, and it had worked. They usually slept with Lydia in the middle, Stiles' back pressed to her chest and Derek's arm curled around the both of them, but there would be nights when Stiles or Derek needed to be in the middle, and no one said a word as they moved around to accommodate the other. The anniversary of the Hale fire, the date of Stiles' mother's death, the day Lydia's parents had divorced; smaller events like the day Laura left to return to Beacon Hills, a particular scent that reminded Stiles of his mother, a scathing remark from Lydia's father that she refuses to acknowledge, but still clings to them a little tighter that night. (Derek and Stiles have both threatened to disembowel him for hurting her, but Lydia refuses to let them, stating that the man is not worth their time or effort.)

"Everything okay?" Derek asks softly, looking between them with a slight frown, probably picking up a scent that they'd never recognise.

"Peter's coming back," Stiles replies, moving over to the bed, setting his bat aside before crawling into Derek's lap.

"We think," Lydia adds quickly. "Reports of an Alpha heading this way."

Derek nuzzles Stiles' neck and uses a free hand to tug Lydia next to them. Then he stops and looks at her, his eyes bleeding blue. "There's something else, isn't there?"

Stiles looks at her, frowning slightly, and in the thin stripe of light from the hall, he can see Lydia nod in response.

"He's not alone," she says, and there's a heavy implication that Peter's not just bringing one person back, but several.

Derek sighs heavily, shifting Stiles in his lap before tugging Lydia onto the bed with them completely. She murmurs something low and obscene under her breath, undoing her heels and placing them beside Stiles' bat before she returns to her position next to him, her arm wrapped around Stiles' waist as they both face Derek.

"He's not alone, but neither are we. We have each other, and that will never change, understood?" Derek asks, cupping their cheeks and drawing them both in for long, languid kisses in turn.

Stiles rests his forehead against Derek's shoulder, trying to remember just how to _breathe_ , and eventually he nods in return. "Understood."

Lydia's draped across Stiles' back, her fingers carding through his short hair gently, and she presses a kiss between his shoulder blades before turning to kiss Derek again. "Understood."

Despite the awkward positioning, Stiles manages to slide his hands over theirs, threading their fingers together, and squeezes firmly. They have each other, they're pack, and he's not going anywhere. He gets two firm squeezes in return, and Stiles knows that they feel the same.

Now, they just have to wait for Peter and his pack to arrive.

Stiles' eyes filter to white, and he smirks a little as he sees his wooden bat rise off the floor and towards the brackets on the wall.

 _Bring it on_.

...

End of the first chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Lydia

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 **Author's note:** The picture that inspired this chapter is linked in my profile.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Stiles has his bats, and Lydia has her heels. She wears her outfits and makeup like it's her own kind of armour, and in a way, it is. She doesn't feel comfortable or complete if she doesn't look her best, and Lydia has become extra attentive to the amount of time she spends on her personal appearance. Neither Stiles nor Derek say anything about it, even as they arm themselves with bats and guns and powders, claws and fangs and eyes. They have their little preparation rituals and she has her own. Of course, the axe also helps. It's heavy, heavier than any of Stiles' modified bats, but the weight of it feels good in her hands, and Lydia likes the sound the axe makes as she drags it against the ground, the noises she can hear echoing from the metal, telling her just who and what is going to die next.

With every creature they defeat from the onslaught of the Nemeton's attacks, she imagines hacking Peter's body to pieces and Lydia _enjoys it_. She's not psychotic, though by all accounts she really should be by now - with all of her friends dead, and her clinging to what was left by pulling Stiles and Derek into bed at the first chance, to make herself feel alive, to scream something other than her friends' names in death and mourning - but Peter, well Peter would deserve it and more. He took so much more from her than her friends, but her future too. From the moment he'd bitten her, changed her, made her become the dormant thing that rested under her skin, Peter had stolen the future she'd planned for herself. Now, years later, Lydia might be somewhat grateful for it, to know the things that happened in Beacon Hills, to understand the things that go bump in the night, and to be one of the few to defeat them, but that doesn't mean she has to _like it_.

Stiles understands that more than Derek, she thinks, the kinship of being thrown unexpectedly into a world of magic and monsters and death. Lydia doesn't mind the magic and monsters, really, but it's the death that bothers her, the half-whispered noises of names and things that she shouldn't know, of things she shouldn't hear, doesn't want to hear. She wanted to be normal, popular, a winner; she wanted to win the Fields Medal, to be extraordinary in an ordinary world. Now, Lydia is simply normal in an extraordinary world. Derek understands that part more than Stiles.

Lydia doesn't envy either of them their gifts, their power, but she doesn't have that sort of defensive power, so she knows that she has to make up for it with everything else she does. It's exhausting, but rewarding as well. Maybe just as rewarding as a Fields Medal, if she's being honest. She collects reports from all of the packs, keeps them updated on events in Beacon Hills and the rest of the US (Talia Hale had done something similar back in the day, and other packs seem grateful for the chance to network without being seen as territorial threats to one another). It pleases Lydia that she's thought of as useful, that she's compared to Talia Hale as often as Derek is, that Stiles is compared to Talia's husband Frank, and thinks that maybe this is the way it was always meant to end with them: together.

They're three parts of one whole, arguments and disagreements aside, but they love each other so fiercely _she's_ actually scared away other 'wolves from Derek when he's too polite to turn them down. Stiles usually gets a laugh out of that, though the sound has been far and few in between since Peter's last betrayal of them, and Lydia doesn't care about the whispers that follow them as she pulls her two lovers home. Lydia has always known exactly who and what she wants, and if she wants Stiles and Derek, then that's exactly what she'll get. They could never deny her, and as Lydia has discovered over the past few years, there's little they'll ask of her that she won't immediately agree to.

"Time to get up, Lyds," Stiles murmurs, stroking her arm.

"Time?" Lydia asks, blinking up at him through her hair.

"Almost nine."

"You let me sleep in?" she asks in surprise, scrambling to sit up and get out of bed.

"We all slept in, actually," Derek replies from the doorway, holding three mugs of coffee carefully.

"Wake me earlier next time; I've got a teleconference with Utah in an hour," Lydia mutters.

"You have that listed on the board for tomorrow!" Stiles calls after her in confusion as she hurries to the ensuite bathroom.

"Last minute change!" she replies over her shoulder, turning the shower taps on and waiting a few seconds for the water to warm up before getting under the spray.

"Enough time for us to join you?" Derek asks, opening the shower door.

(She couldn't stand a shower curtain or a combined bath/shower, reminded far too much of the hospital, of losing her hair, the drain blocking up and the bath filling with bloody water. Stiles was the one to hand her the sledgehammer so she could smash the old bath to pieces, and Derek let her choose whichever bathroom design and fittings she wanted. Now, the shower's big enough to fit the three of them, the shower head itself is large enough to spray water over all of their bodies if they want, and everything is perfectly colour co-ordinated from the fittings to the towels. The bathroom is her sanctuary now that her lovers helped her tame the nightmare.)

"Afterwards, I don't want to be sex-stupid with Utah."

"Then we'll just help you wash up," Stiles offers, fingers curled in the hem of his shirt as he waits for her answer.

"Stiles, wash my hair; Derek, legs. Work your way to the middle."

They don't answer verbally, but both Stiles and Derek immediately strip out of their clothes. Lydia hands Stiles the shampoo bottle and the shower gel bottle to Derek. It's one of her nicer ones, the milk and honey kind that Derek's admitted makes him want to back her against the closest surface to sip and lick at her skin. Stiles doesn't say anything quite so flowery, he grew out of that phase long ago, but he does spend an inordinate amount of time kissing her body than he usually would. Lydia likes the pampering, it reminds her of her old self, the one that made out with werewolves and kanimas and had the supernatural world wrapped around her little finger. It no longer feels like that, Lydia hardly feels like she has her own life under control most days, but Stiles and Derek have the ability to make her feel calm despite the lack of control. She knows that she can trust them, more than Jackson or Aiden or Parrish or anyone in between; Lydia can trust her life with them because they've trusted their lives with her.

Both Stiles and Derek seem to have taken her time limit to heart, neither one talking as they wash her hair and scrub her body down, firm but not harsh. Stiles does give her a slight head massage while lathering her red strands to help ease the tension she's feeling, and Derek's fingers might linger on her thighs, but overall, Lydia is clean in under ten minutes, her body washed from head to toe. She thanks them both with light kisses and steps out of the shower to dry, change, and apply her armour. Stiles and Derek stay in the shower together, and the image of them kissing each other is one that will ensure she finishes her meeting with Utah sooner rather than later.

The news from Utah isn't good by a long stretch. The Alpha that went through their state not only had more numbers than Colorado had reported, but it had snatched away two of their own as well. The betas that left had been loyal to the Utah pack for many years, and it was obvious that their loss was being taken hard.

"We might not be able to make them come to their senses; we have no idea what Peter's promised them. We will not allow them to threaten us," Lydia warns, an underlying tone in her voice suggesting that the 'wolves may not return alive.

"We... we understand. Just, please, try. Emile and Jan have a son; he needs his parents."

"We'll try," Lydia replies, voice soft and calming. "Thank you for your news, we appreciate it. A contingency of 'wolves will be passing through Provo later in the month," she adds, checking her schedule book.

"Thank you, Lydia. Give our greetings to Stiles and Derek," the Alpha replies, bowing her head slightly before turning off the teleconference.

"Do or do not, there is no try," Stiles says, voice soft but lacking any empathy.

When Lydia looks over at him, she sees a crooked grin on his face, and there's no hint of remorse.

"They've just lost two of their family to this Alpha, Stiles. Have a little more empathy. What if it was me or Derek that had been lost?"

"I'd hunt you down and kill whoever took you. I know you wouldn't leave us, just like we wouldn't leave you," Stiles replies with a shrug, and she can't say anything to that because he's right. "And if anyone tries to kidnap Derek again, we'd _both_ hunt them down."

"Bring your bat, I'll bring my axe," Lydia replies, smirking. "Now, what happened to shower sex?" she asks, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly at the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Derek wanted to know if you were okay; something about a spiked heartbeat? He almost tore the shower head off the wall."

"I'm fine, I just didn't enjoy hearing that this Alpha's stealing other pack's members. Deucalion's between us and him right now, and if he gets Duke..."

"Call Duke, tell him to bring his pack here. Stop the Alpha's accession of other packs," Derek calls, his voice filtered between fangs from their bedroom.

Derek doesn't take it well when he thinks either of them are harmed or under threat. When Peter had betrayed them the last time, he had tortured Derek in a very unique way: poisoned him with wolfsbane, injected into his leg so there was no gunshot wound and then blocked all of his senses, bar his hearing. Derek died slowly, hearing nothing but their whole pack scream and beg and be killed one by one, and it had been nothing short of a miracle that Lydia had managed to save him with the purple wolfsbane that grew in her back patio. While Derek's usually the calmest of the three of them, he still has his triggers, just like she and Stiles do.

Lydia nods at Derek's idea and turns back to the screen, setting up a call to Deucalion's pack in Las Vegas. Deucalion answers the call himself and while he seems surprised at her call, thanks to Lydia's networking, he knows that the Alpha's expanding his pack and returning to Beacon Hills. He agrees to come to Beacon Hills ahead of the Alpha and bring his pack, but they won't arrive for another three days.

"That's fine, just get here before Peter does!" Derek calls from the bedroom.

"Of course," Deucalion says, sounding as amused as he looks, and then bids them farewell before closing the connection.

"They're not staying here!" Derek mutters, coming out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, eyes still glowing.

"It was your idea, Derek, you'll either have to let them stay here or think of somewhere else to house them. The words 'train' and 'depot' had better not come out of your mouth," Lydia adds, and he closes his mouth with a snap.

"Peter's old condo downtown; it'll be enough to fit Deucalion and his pack, and it's close enough that they'll hear if you howl or Lydia screams," Stiles suggests. "Besides, it'd be a good way to get them used to Peter's scent without them sniffing Derek for the family line or something."

"Agreed," Derek mutters, shuddering at the thought.

"All right, I'll organise it," Lydia says with a firm nod, taking up a pen to write the note in her schedule book.

"Later," Stiles interjects before she can write it in.

"Of course, I was promised sex after the Utah call, and I know you both keep your promises," Lydia replies, smirking. "Now, who'll be so kind as to take me to bed?"

"Who says we're going to bed?" Stiles asks, smirking right back at her as he and Derek move into the lounge room and corner her against the lounge.

Lydia lets them wrap themselves around her, burying noses and lips against her skin, murmuring words of love and encouragement to her. It's not enough that she has them now, she wants them for as long they'll have her, and by god, Lydia will fight and kill to keep Stiles and Derek with her.

...

End of the second chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Derek

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 **Author's note:** The picture that inspired this chapter is linked in my profile.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Derek has always been protective of others - _family, friends, pack, complete and utter strangers_ \- and when he was younger, it was something that his sisters had teased him for, saying he was next in line to be pack mother. With Paige, the list grew to include _loved_ ones . After Paige's death and the fire, however, the list shrank to _family_ and _pack_ because he didn't have friends anymore and he no longer trusted strangers. Going to New York didn't change that, he kept to himself, buried in his grief and guilt, and not even Laura's pushing and comments could make him stop glaring at the world and his own reflection.

He returned to Beacon Hills with the intention of returning to New York in a few days, weeks tops, but then he discovered Laura's body, there was a rogue Alpha on the loose, a kid still in high school had been bitten, and he felt his old tendencies returning as he decided to stay around for a bit longer, maybe a few months. The months had changed to the end of the year, until Derek finally stopped kidding himself, sold the place in New York, bought the loft, and had his and Laura's meagre belongings sent down to Beacon Hills. He had a _pack_ again, a _family_ in Peter (and later, Cora), and since Scott warmed up to him and Stiles just refused to leave him alone, Derek had _friends_ again as well. He had people to protect and he felt secure in his ability to do exactly that for them, no matter what the Nemeton released. That all changed after Peter's second betrayal.

The first betrayal had been for power, and Derek had killed him for it, for Laura, for their family. The second betrayal had been for power as well, but there was more than that - Peter wanted to cause complete and utter devastation. He'd killed Scott first, a syringe of wolfsbane right in his heart, and Peter had used Malia to do it. Over their time together, searching for a mother that no longer existed, Peter had convinced Malia that Scott was using Stiles, was a tyrant who only wanted power, to control Stiles and Malia and everyone else in the pack. There were far lesser beings that had believed and been twisted by Peter - Malia didn't stand a chance.

At the next pack meeting, Malia had stabbed Scott thinking that she was helping Stiles, the pack, only she was helping Peter instead. He had known he wasn't trusted by the rest of the pack, despite the small shows of trust over the years, and when Scott was gasping his last breath, Peter had come in and plunged his claws directly into his chest. They were all too shocked by what had happened to respond properly, and Liam and Mason were killed in a matter of seconds. The rest of them weren't killed quite so kindly nor quickly, and after injecting Derek with wolfsbane in the leg, Peter had tied him up and blindfolded him, taking away all of his senses as he slowly died except for his hearing, and then forced Derek listen to his friends as they died.

Peter had killed his own daughter first, then Kira, then Danny who'd only returned to Beacon Hills for a vacation from MIT, Parrish who'd been with Lydia at the time, Jackson and Isaac were next, both back from their European escapes now they were 18, and then Lydia and Stiles. He had saved them for last, teasing, taunting and cruel as he injured them, all the while forcing Derek to listen to every single whimper and plea.

Somehow, the latter two had survived, though not without their own consequences. Lydia had been sliced to pieces, wore her white scars as armour, her brilliant mind slightly bent though she swore she wasn't psychotic; Stiles had been beaten with his own baseball bat, his still favoured weapon now used as a cruel irony. Derek thinks that Stiles' spark had something to do with their survival, that he'd believed they would survive - that they would _live_ \- so strongly that nature itself had no choice but to obey. He remembers Peter gasping something about Stiles' eyes glowing white, hearing a sizzling of flesh just before Peter dropped the baseball bat; Derek remembers the welcome sound of police sirens, Lydia's screams for their friends, Peter running because they all knew that the police force had been armed with wolfsbane bullets ever since the Sheriff found out just what was going on, and he remembers his own laughter, broken and twisted and hysterical.

Stiles and Lydia had been given the same room, something wrangled by Stiles' father and Lydia's mother because they started screaming as soon as they were out of the other's sight, and drugging them only delayed the screams. Since he actually had to heal from the wolfsbane poisoning, Derek moved his own bed into their hospital room and _dared_ anyone to tell him leave. (One of the nurses attempted, screaming and crying as she left with his growl and eyes and claws after her; Derek didn't care.) He was fine in a matter of days, but still refused to leave. He kept an ear out for Peter's return, for nurses and doctors with their syringes, for anyone and anything that could be a threat. The only people he now trusted were in the hospital room with him, and his list had been shrunk down completely to _pack_.

Of course, Lydia had simply _refused_ to let them be just that to him, and mere weeks after they'd been released from hospital, she had dragged Derek to her and tugged Stiles over, and they'd never really left. He didn't want them to leave. They were _pack_ and _lovers_ and _friends_ and they both meant _**everything**_ to him now, Derek didn't think he had it in him to let them leave, but it was okay because they both promised that they wouldn't leave him either. He held them at night, clutching them to him, terrified that they would leave him anyway if he didn't hold them tight enough. They were his anchors, keeping him weighted to his sanity and whatever little was left of his humanity.

They'd talked about revenge, however unlikely it had seemed, spent hours and days and weeks as they told each other everything. They could have no more secrets between them, they needed complete and utter trust. Stiles and Lydia talked about their parents, their families, their friends, their lives before Peter, and Derek found himself telling Lydia and Stiles the same in return. They heard all about Paige, Kate, Jennifer, even Braeden, and his voice went quiet as he talked about his family, his guilt, his own feelings about the fire. Derek had broken down as he told them about how revered his mother was with her ability to turn into an actual wolf, something he could do now, but doubted he would ever be able to live up to her legendary status as a werewolf. The other 'wolf packs had all bowed to her, let her unite them in a way that had never been done before or since, and she had organised them, made use of networking and helped settle disputes even if they were halfway across the country. She had been loved, respected, and there was no unity like that with werewolf packs anymore. Deucalion's Alpha pack had been a misguided attempt at recreating what had been lost since her death, but it had been a spectacular failure because Deucalion didn't have half the command his mother had had.

Lydia's eyes had widened at the story, and she'd spent the whole night in their computer room, making lists of creatures they still knew were alive and might help. It had been a long shot, but after Lydia had explained her idea, Stiles agreed and suggested his own ideas, and they'd started with Deucalion. Derek had run there himself, knowing that Deucalion was in Las Vegas now, had a somewhat misfit pack with him, and he owed them for Scott letting him live. Deucalion had come through, agreeing to their idea and vision, and letting them know the names of other packs that would help. He'd also been the first to let them know about the rogue and misshapen Alpha that was scouring the desert, limping on what looked to be still-burnt paws. (Stiles eyes had glowed white on hearing that news, and he told them in gleefully sharp and sadistic tones that he'd increased the fiery feeling to Peter's paws because that was _something_ he could absolutely fucking do now. Since Peter was still healing, it would be something he would continue to do until Peter had - _regrettably_ \- fully healed. Lydia had just laughed, and Derek had smirked, both encouraging Stiles in their own ways.)

Derek heard the slide and step of Stiles' limp, Lydia's heels distinctive on the concrete behind him as they walked up to the loft's door, and he headed out to the lounge room to greet them.

"Peter's scent is still at his condo," Stiles calls from the front door, toeing off his sneakers but placing them on the rack beside Lydia's heels carefully, an ingrained habit after the first few months of living with Lydia.

"Good, that means I don't have to deal with them until later."

"Duke's asked to meet you beforehand. He'll be by himself, down at the diner's on Main Street. I told him we'd tell you," Lydia says, kissing Derek's lips in greeting.

He wrinkles his nose at the scent of other 'wolves on her, even though he recognises Deucalion's scent among the mix and knows he's not a threat. Lydia smiles and offers her neck to him, like she can tell exactly what he's thinking, and Derek doesn't hesitate in biting down, reaffirming his claiming mark. Stiles slips past them, and when he returns, Derek sees that he has a bundle of Derek's clothes for them to change in to. Lydia kisses Stiles and strips out of her dress right there, pulling Derek's worn henley on instead. Stiles drops Derek's clothes and pulls him in for a firm kiss before he too offers his neck, and Derek feels calmer after he retracts his fangs. Stiles hums a striptease as he strips out of his pants and shirts, tugging on Derek's sweatpants and ignoring the shirt to instead pull Derek onto the lounge between them, letting his head rest on his chest instead. Derek listens to his lovers' heartbeats, thankful for the beating sound that he remembers hearing, even as he was dying.

Lydia breaks the companionable silence first, her fingers carding through Derek's hair as he nuzzles against her shoulder.

"The Alpha will be here tomorrow," her voice is soft in the loft, but it feels as though she's shouted the words, and both Derek and Stiles nod sombrely in return.

"We'll be ready for him," Stiles says, and there's not a hint of a lie in his heartbeat.

They spend the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in each other, quiet with their moans and whispers of love. When they finally fall asleep, Derek clings to Lydia and Stiles just as tight as he did the first time they were in bed together.

...

Peter's waiting for them at the old Hale house. He's lost a large number of his makeshift pack - Deucalion's pack know how to shield themselves from other werewolves, which made it easier for them to work with Stiles to capture a number of the kidnapped 'wolves and break the spell on them. Stiles is quiet and efficient, his eyes glowing white as he removes the loyalty spells on each 'wolf, finally allowing the werewolves to return to their own packs. Emile and Jan are two of the first rescued and decide to stay and fight with them instead; some choose to stay, others - some younger than Scott when he was first turned - just start running for their home and packs. Derek doesn't blame them. Lydia stands within one of Stiles' silenced spelled circle to call their packs so they can be met halfway or closer if need be - some of these 'wolves were taken from as far as Minnesota and have been running almost non-stop, and they'll collapse sooner rather than later if they don't stop, but thankfully, a lot of the packs have sent one or two 'wolves after Peter's trail by car rather than on foot. Stiles murmurs that they'll all be found one way or another, Lydia nodding in agreement as she steps outside of the circle and grabs her axe while Stiles shoulders his baseball bat carefully and they all head to the old Hale house where Peter's waiting.

Peter's already shifted, eyes red and claws elongated, but Derek doesn't bother shifting. Stiles eyes glow white as he pulls Peter towards them with his magic, slamming the 'wolf's body against the barrier of mountain ash that appears at their feet. Peter snarls and breaks away from Stiles' magical hold - Derek has done that before and knows it shouldn't be as easy as what Peter made it seem, Alpha or not. It doesn't matter though, because there's another line of mountain ash behind Peter, and Stiles shouts a series of words that don't make sense to Derek but he can feel the power of them along his skin. The gathered werewolves behind Peter and the mountain ash slowly stop snarling, their eyes clearing from the blues and golds, and they all seem to gather their senses at once, realising that they're no longer in their homes. There's some snarling, some more 'wolves leave, but faced with the Alpha that had kidnapped them, not as many run this time.

"Think you've lost your edge there, Petey," Stiles chuckles, the white in his eyes fading.

"You haven't stopped me! You will never stop me! I'M THE - "

He cuts off with a blood-filled choke as Lydia's axe slams into his chest, shattering at least four of his ribs with the angle.

"Hmm, missed your heart. Though it is a minuscule target, so I really shouldn't be judged poorly for the effort. I guess I'll just have to try again," Lydia quips, smiling as she reaches for the axe handle.

Peter snarls, blood splattering as he grips her wrist firmly, the barrier flashing fiercely as he pulls her across the barrier, his nails digging into her skin.

"He's here. Find him," Derek snarls and while he's not an Alpha anymore, the weight of his command is just as heavy, and Deucalion and his pack immediately disperse.

Peter seems delighted that they've just lost the weight behind their attack, and puts his mouth close to Lydia's ear. "See that, dearest Lydia? They're not interested in saving you."

"You mistake a strategic move for a folly, dearest Peter," Lydia mocks.

Stiles launches himself across the line of ash to barrel into their bodies, knocking Lydia aside and swinging his rowan-crafted baseball axe into the other side of Peter's chest. Peter just laughs, even as Stiles slaps spell after spell onto his body, not one of the spells having an effect. Lydia scrambles to her feet, and breaks the line of mountain ash on both sides, even as Peter backhands Stiles and he's thrown across the ground and into the surrounding fence. Derek snarls and moves forward, claws out and eyes blue. The gathered werewolves aren't far behind, and there's soon close to twenty werewolves shifted and working towards bringing Peter down. He struggles and fights against them, and for a moment, it looks like he might even beat their combined force, his Alpha strength too much for even twenty betas. Lydia screams, but it's not a name of any gathered, and Derek almost laughs at the expression on his uncle's face when he realises just who's died. Stiles gets off the fence and brushes himself off, straightening his shirt as he makes his way over. Derek spares him a glance now that Peter actually looks scared, and is relieved to see that his lover is all right. Lydia's just smiling down at Peter, like she can't wait to get the axe out of his chest just to bury it right back in. _Maybe a few inches lower._

"You think we didn't know about Deaton, Peter? We've known for years; he's been feeding us misinformation and we've been doing the same right back," Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

"He's dead now, thanks to Duke and his pack, and you're no longer under the Druid's protection. You have the same amount of power as any regular Alpha, which means we can kill you," Lydia says, pleased.

"Deaton was never loyal to our family; he was loyal to _you_. That's how Kate was able to douse the house in accelerants without anyone hearing, and that's how you were able to survive the fire. Bet you didn't count on being in a coma for all that time," Derek muses, flicking his hands to elongate his claws.

"No, Derek. Don't. I... I did this for our family, to get revenge for what they all did. They all left us, left our family, the minute Talia died! We're family, remember?" Peter says, eyes wide as he looks between Derek's claws and his face.

"Oh, I remember," Derek promises, then plunges his clawed fist right into Peter's chest.

He hears Lydia's laughter and Stiles' little breath of amazement, and then they're both there beside him, their own hands ripping and tearing into Peter's chest. The other betas all let go of Peter, backing away as his red eyes start to fade back to their natural colour. Derek's start to filter from blue to red, and beside him, Stiles' white eyes are tinged with red, while Lydia's brown eyes are ringed red. By the time Peter's dead, the other betas have all made a circle around them, their scents terrified and their pulses racing.

Peter's death is somewhat anti-climatic overall, but _three_ Alphas certainly makes up for it. It's never been done before, one Alpha's power shared between three, but Stiles believed that it could work, and that's all Lydia and Derek needed to agree. They're three parts of one whole, and they'll be a better Alpha together than one alone. They don't work well with one leading and two following, they all need to be equal in their relationship, and this will ensure that more than ever before. Their hands are covered in blood when they stand up, turning to face the werewolves still gathered and now kneeling before them.

"Well, I could get used to this," Lydia murmurs, smirking.

"Axe first, worship later," Stiles reminds her, and Lydia nods, tugging her blood-slippery axe out of Peter's dead body.

Derek and Stiles help with claws and magic, and in a matter of minutes, Peter's body is hacked into pieces. Stiles sets his head on fire with a burst of magic, and when Deucalion and his pack return with Deaton's body, they're given Peter's arms to bury as far away from each other as possible. Emile and Jan are given his legs and the same instructions. They both look a little ill, but nod determinedly anyway and leave with a quick nod to the three Alphas. Deucalion seems impressed with the red glow of Stiles and Lydia's eyes, and gives his farewell with a promise to visit sooner rather than later, his pack leaving after him. The rest of the 'wolves disperse, some still looking a little shellshocked at the three Alphas, but they're ignored as they try to decide on what to do with Peter's torso.

The Nemeton has been quiet for the past month, as if it knew their plans and that they were too busy to fight off whatever it let loose. The tree's been growing, considering the power it's been gaining from Stiles' magic and the increase of magical creatures and beings in the county, and the Nemeton itself looks almost as it once did. Deaton had suggested cutting it down to stem the flow of power, which is what helped solidify Stiles' suspicions about the Druid because stemming the power is what turned the Nemeton evil-ish in the first place. It was always meant to grow and thrive in order to properly house the evil it caged. Once the tree had been cut down, the magic had stopped, reduced to a trickle that barely kept anything caged. The Nemeton had twisted in on itself and later, was corrupted by Jennifer's ambitions, even while there was a Druid in the area that was meant to heal a tree as sacred as the Nemeton. Stiles had taken over that duty since Deaton didn't seem interested. (Lydia still claimed that the Nemeton was playing with Stiles by letting out the monsters now and then, and since it had been so quiet recently, Derek was starting to agree with her.)

Derek and Lydia hung back while Stiles went forward to talk to the Nemeton (it was something he did because if plants could grow with singing, then he didn't see the harm in asking a prison tree to actually keep holding things prisoner). The Nemeton seemingly accepted both Peter's torso and Deaton's body as offerings, both disappearing when they were close enough to the tree's roots. Stiles pressed his hands to the Nemeton's trunk, letting some of his newly acquired power flow into the tree to help restrain its inhabitants.

 _Peter's never coming back_ , Derek realises, and he feels almost giddy at the thought.

"Is it finally over?" Derek asks hesitantly, just in case.

"The thing with Peter? Yes. The thing with us being Alphas? Hell, no," Stiles replies, grinning broadly with red eyes.

"We're _Alphas_ ," Lydia breaths out, and Derek knows the exhilarating feeling of power that's coursing through their bodies.

"We're not going to abuse the power," Derek murmurs.

He pulls them both against his chest and leaching their pain because Stiles was limping more than usual after being thrown against a fence, and try as she might deny it, Lydia's emotional pain is enough to send black lines up his arms as well.

"Of course not. Complete and utter worship isn't abuse of power," Lydia says, a little dazedly like his lovers always are when he takes their pain.

"Can you imagine that, though? There'd be so many people around, and they'd want to be near you all the time, and that just doesn't sound at all appealing if there's more than one or two people," Stiles mumbles.

"Are you saying you want me to worship the both of you?" Derek asks, leading them out of the forest and back to the car.

"Yes. But you already do anyway," Lydia says, frowning slightly.

"You can worship us when we get home," Stiles proclaims, sounding very pleased with his solution. "We'll worship you too."

"Of course," Derek promises, because he was planning something similar anyway.

Derek needs them to be close, needs to have them near so that when his mind catches up to the idea that they could have been killed, when he replays the night over and over and realises just how close Peter had come to killing Lydia and Stiles, Derek will need them even more than they need him.

Lydia and Stiles are his pack, his lovers, his friends, his anchors, his everything, and if he can help it - if he can _fight_ for it - Derek _never_ wants that to lose that.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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